


Midnight Cowboy

by Moonshine_Givens



Series: Midnight Cowboy [1]
Category: Justified
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 07:57:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonshine_Givens/pseuds/Moonshine_Givens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Helen's money was just enough to pay for Raylan getting out of Harlan, and nothing else?</p><p>This is a rewrite of the show's pilot, Fire in the Hole, only our favorite US Marshal is actually a prostitute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Cowboy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadowolfhunter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowolfhunter/gifts).



> Hello there, Gunslingers! This is an AU with Raylan as a hooker. I figured every fandom has to have it's own hooker AU, and thought I should fix us some. I hope you enjoy this, since this took forever to finish. Please forgive any possible mistakes. Oh, and there's a sex scene, so be aware of porn!

Raylan walked over, feeling the hotness of a bright sun and a clear sky. The pool looked like a happy place that day, full of girls in bikinis and colorful drinks – Miami at its best. He strolled over all that happiness, coming to a stop by an occupied table at the far end. There sat Tommy Bucks, as Raylan knew he would be.

“Hello, Tommy.”

“You know, Raylan, I come here since I was a kid. I love this place, I’ve always loved it.”

Raylan knew that, in fact he was counting on that. Counting on the information that everyone here knew Tommy Bucks, that many of his associates and partners in crime were having lunch just two tables over.

Of course, he also knew Tommy would have his cellphone by his side, his finger just over the send key.

“So, have lunch with me. Are you hungry? I swear, if you pass this out, those are the best crab cakes in the whole town. I swear to God, way better than that crap we ate in Managua, remember that?”

Yeah, Raylan remembers that. It was maybe their second meeting, and the food was indeed crap, but Raylan was being well paid at the time and didn’t mind the food at all.

“You sure you wanna see your threats through, Bucks?” Raylan asked, in a low tone. He couldn’t afford to lose control now.

“Oh, so I’m Bucks now? I was Tommy seconds ago, what the hell happened to that? What the hell happened to ‘Baby’?”

“That was before you were threating me.”

“Now, Raylan, I’m not threating you exactly. I’m threating that asshole you insist on dating.”

“I’m not dating him, Bucks.” For fucks sake, how slow was that man, really? How hard is it to understand? “This is my job…”

“If you could” Tommy was losing his cool, Raylan could see that, as he could see the many looks their conversation were already attracting, even if no one could guess what was happening at the table. “… dammit, Raylan, if you could just listen to me on this. You don’t have to do this job any longer. Look, the airport is a good 45 from here, but I guess that we’re still good if we leave in the next two minutes…”

“I’m not leaving Miami with you, Bucks, I have no interest whatsoever in being your kept boy.”

“But you were so fucking interested in being my whore!”

All eyes were on them now. Raylan knew that, given Tommy Bucks line of work, people could still interpret their conversation as something less homoerotic than it really was. But Tommy was slowly digging his own grave here: yes, he could still press the send key and release to the press the pictures of Raylan and the deputy US marshal he had being assigned a few months ago, but people would connect the hooker on the news with the guy talking to him, and that was already looking bad for him.

The US marshal was a nice enough fellow, not married or kinky, just trying to keep a low profile and get on with his life without having to “go clubbing every time I wanna fuck”. Raylan figured the man didn’t deserve his whole life ruined because some lowlife he never met before was being obsessive over his toy-boy.

“Be that as it may, Tommy” Raylan kept his voice neutral and his tone low. “It doesn’t mean you have any say on how I live my life outside the hours you pay me for. I’m not yours to be moved around as you wish, and I won’t let you fuck that man’s life.”

“Cut me some slack here. Does nothing count? That I wanted to give you a chance to walk away untainted from all that?”

Raylan had to smile at that. “Untainted” was not a good choice at words. “Well, I’m offering the same consideration right now. You can still walk away from all that, you can get up and go. Hell, you could be in that damn plane if you want, I don’t care. But you’ll not send those pictures.”

“So what you gonna do? You gonna beat the shit out of me in front of all those people, Raylan? Gonna send your pimp after me?”

No, Raylan wasn’t gonna do that, because that’s not how they did business. Raylan leaned over the table, getting closer to Tommy, closer than was necessary and probably wise to a Miami mobster with a reputation to keep.

“Tell you what, Tommy. You take your finger out of that key, and I’ll kiss you.”

Raylan could pinpoint the exact second the implications of his words sunk into Bucks mind.

“You think I’m gonna give up my only leverage on you over…” he laughed, but it was humorless. “over a kiss?”

“You tell me.”

Raylan was certain he would, because a kiss was the only thing Raylan would never do, and it didn’t matter how much money was involved. A kiss was the only thing Tommy really wanted, since it wasn’t for sale. They had fucked more times than Raylan cared to count, and Raylan was almost sure the whole point of the blackmail was Tommy’s way to get what he knew his money couldn’t buy. Of course, that would be Raylan’s affection, but Tommy’s mind wasn’t a very sharp one, so he translated that to Raylan’s kiss.

“You can’t… you can’t do that, not here.”

“Look, Tommy, this is the only place for us now.” Raylan answered, being completely honest. “You know that after all that mess I’ll never work with you again, and you have to know by now that I will never, you hear me?, never get on that plane with you. So we can kiss now and end this as friends or you can send those damn pictures and spend your life wondering.”

There were many reasons not to kiss Tommy Bucks. The moment they kissed, Tommy would realize for sure that what he felt was more than just lust for Raylan. He would understand, as well, that a simple kiss wouldn’t be the thing that was missing between them, wouldn’t fill the void between a professional relationship and a love relationship. A kiss wouldn’t change anything between them, but it would change everything for Tommy Bucks, and that was equally dangerous and sad, and something Raylan would rather not do.

But we all have regrets.

“You have thirty seconds to make this decision, Bucks.”

Tommy just stared from across the table. Raylan wasn’t keeping his voice low any longer, and people were looking at them as if they were expecting a shooting any time soon. Good, this had to have an audience, otherwise it wouldn’t work.

“Twenty seconds.”

“You know what, seriously? You come here, you interrupt my meal, you won’t eat with me…”

“Ten.”

“This is bullshit. This is supreme bullshit.”

They stared at each other, Raylan wouldn’t give an inch. The seconds ticked, and it was like the air crackled with the threat. Finally, Bucks made the first movement, as Raylan knew he would do, and crossed the table. As their lips met, Raylan also made sure to take the phone off his fingers. As he kept kissing Tommy, Givens could feel all the will and strength slowly leaving the other man’s body, as if he was being killed instead. It was all over now.

*****

“You know our boss down in New York is gonna have lots of questions.”

“Nothing I can’t answer”

“People can think that you cornered him, that you didn’t give him a choice.”

“He put a damn detective after me and was blackmailing me with some pictures with a client. He had a choice.”

Dan was being overly cautious, as Raylan knew he should be, being the one responsible for the Miami branch.

Yeah, yeah, they were hookers here, nothing more than pay-fucks, but the company Raylan worked was actually quite organized, or tried to be. There were branches all over the US, mostly working with men – not boys, men –, making sure they were safe, healthy and well fed. As for the costumers, they would pay a little more for the absolute guaranty that all professionals were clean from drugs and deceases alike, that they were the best at the service provided, and that their personal lives would never be exposed.

That being said, Raylan was counting on Dan having his back for putting his ass on the line just to save some client’s reputation. Once Tommy was exposed in a place filled with his acquaintances, it would be bad for him to expose Raylan as a hooker – would only attract more attention to the fact he was closeted gay, and sleeping with some male prostitute nonetheless. Not good for mob business, they say.

“I’m going to reassign you.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Look, I know nothing of this is your fault, and it seems unfair that you’re being punished for some shit Tommy Bucks pulled on you, but you have been exposed and there’s no one in this state that doesn’t know or imagines what’s your line of work. Besides, it’s not like you’re being subtle with the hat.”

“What about my hat?”

“Look, Raylan, they need guys down in Kentucky.” Raylan couldn’t believe what Dan was saying. “I know you’re not exactly a fan of that state, but you need somewhere low key to stay for a while and there are not many New Yorker boys that would agree to work with the hillbillies. At least you’re one of them.”

Raylan felt like Dan had bitch-slapped him in a way he never felt since he became an actual whore.

“No, no, Dan, I grow up in Kentucky, I don’t wanna go back there.”

“Well, then we have a problem, because you don’t wanna go back to Kentucky and you cannot, under any circumstances, stay here. Got any other skills?” Besides fucking? No, Raylan really didn’t, otherwise he wouldn’t be putting up with that shit. Dan sighed, and looked apologetic. “Now, this will only be a couple months. How long ‘till you’re forty anyway? Than you can choose to stay in the job or take the money and go wherever you want. Not even a whole year.”

Since clients for sexual services from older man – even man like Raylan – became somewhat more difficult to come by with every passing year, the company had a way to ensure their workers would be attended after years of whoring their ass out: after reaching the forty years mark, every worker had the opportunity to grab a considerable amount of cash and hit the road. If they choose to stay, they would have to deal with the diminishing clientele and the even kinkier bastards, but Raylan wasn’t planning on staying that long. He would grab the money and open a bar somewhere, live the rest of his days as a respectable citizen. Only, he wasn’t counting on the next five months being spent at fucking Kentucky.

*****

“A bit of a come down from the Miami branch” Art greeted him. Raylan could already see the differences in this office: they tried so much harder to look like a place that could be selling anything, from eye glasses to cellphones, but not actual sex; the central was much smaller, just a couple rooms with two or three phones that weren’t ringing all the time, like it was in Miami. Most shocking, talking with someone that was clearly on the menu – a boy maybe in his thirties, soft clear skin and hair dyed blond – was an attractive figure, early thirties as well, dark skin and a fit body, cutest smile ever. Of course, what was really shocking was that she was a woman.

“Oh, yeah.” Art was smiling. “That one talking with Tim is Rachel. We don’t usually work with girls, but the boss figured we should provide good service from professionals the ordinary folks wouldn’t have the courage to pick in a bar. Turns out black girls are just as much a taboo to a white male in Kentucky.”

Oh yeah, that sounded just like home.

“You look the same as you did in New York… same coat, same boots…”

“The boots are fairly new.”

“Don’t tell me that hat is. Our own Midnight Cowboy.”

That was his nickname back when he started at New York: then, the hookers still remembered the classics. Now a days everyone just called him Brokeback Mountain or Jack Fuckin’ Twist, but Raylan liked the old nickname better, and he could count on Art to remember the good ol’ days.

“Have a sit, Raylan. Now, I understand you’re planning on sit here, waiting for those last five months to pass so you can gain your well-deserved freedom, and I’ll tell you right now this’ll be easy around these parts, probably easier than it would be in Miami. We’re a small branch, not many men in Kentucky who have the guts or the money to come looking for our services. That being said, you should also know that everyone does everything, and we can’t afford the luxury to deny costumers in here.”

“A whore is a whore is a whore, Art.” Raylan stated calmly. Twenty years in the business, there wasn’t much that still scared him.

“Your dad still in Harlan?”

Yes, Raylan could tell already it would be great to work in Lexington.

“…as far as I know.”

“The reason I’m asking is because your next client is a guy in Harlan.” Art was all business, opening a notebook and searching for something. God, they still do things that way on this shithole, back in Miami it was all two clicks away and the workers could see their next appointment while checking their email. “He’s about the same age as you, it’s a small town, thought you might even know him. Boyd Crowder?”

The first word in Raylan’s mind was “fuck” followed shortly by a very reasonable “no”.

“My God, Art. Any other shit you wanna dump on me tonight?”

*****

Boyd and Raylan dug coal together when they were nineteen. Boyd was also the first boy Raylan ever wanted to fuck, the first boy Raylan ever imagined he could suck off. He would jerk off night after night with Boyd’s image in his head, drunk on that sharp smile, that mad light behind his friend’s eyes. By that time it didn’t meant much: it was never going to be real in Harlan County, and he could never tell what was going in the explosive mind of the Crowder boy. Then, there was a cave in, Boyd saved his life, and they parted ways.

Now Art was saying there was no way out of this unless Raylan himself convinced Boyd it was a bad idea. Boyd wasn’t a costumer; it was the first time he ever called, apparently after a cousin of some of his tugs – and what a surprise, Boyd was a criminal just like his father and his grandfather before that – talked about a bitch called Raylan kissing some mobster in a Hotel in Miami. Why Boyd thought it was necessary to pull strings to find out exactly who the bitch was and where he was at this moment (and how he had done it without being tagged as a “fag” by his minions) Raylan had no idea. The point being, information traveled fast, and before Raylan even set foot in the office, Boyd had already called and made an appointment. No, they couldn’t just send Tim instead, and Art had actually laughed out loud when Raylan suggested Rachel, without letting him in on the joke.

“You’ll find out soon enough. Just make sure to pack lots of condoms, and maybe some brain bleach. I won’t be shaking your hand anytime soon, that’s for sure.”

Raylan did his part, them: he took a long shower, put on some nice clothes and maybe a hint of some cologne, and drove all the way to Harlan. He didn’t make any “meeting a new client” preps, because he wasn’t going to have sex with Boyd, he just wasn’t. Yes, maybe he wanted to charm the boy a little, but just charm him enough to make him not want to have sex with him. Okay, flawed plan. Damn Kentucky.

Boyd was living in an abandoned church, some assholes that looked like they wanted to live up every hillbilly stereotype playing with guns in his yard. Or something. Really, Raylan wasn’t going to look too hard at what his fate could have been, besides, he was afraid that what Art meant by “brain bleacher” was that his sexy miner friend had turned out to be one of those fat bastards playing Harlan Roulette. Please, God, no.

But then the church gates opened, and from inside of it, stepped a demon.

(and no, Raylan wasn’t thinking about that jealous little bitch that liked to call himself Devil)

“Look at you! Suit, a necktie…” his voice was still the same, the same energy, and damn, he was still… Boyd. He smiled so openly, so genuinely, that Raylan couldn’t help but smile back, his first real smile since he got to Kentucky. “Looking good!”

They hugged briefly, like any old friends would do, nothing to see here. Raylan actually thought things could work from there, but then two things happened: Boyd whispered, really low “All that for me?” and Raylan could see the beginnings of a tattoo in Boyd’s shoulder that he had the bad feeling was a swastika.

“We’ll see about that, Boyd.” was Raylan’s only answer.

Boyd was quick in getting hid of the tug without having to make any introductions – those boys would connect Raylan’s name to the Miami mobster. The guy called Devil looked like he would rather stay by Boyd’s side and was seriously considering shooting Raylan on the spot, so as soon as he was gone Raylan couldn’t help but run his mouth.

“Jealous, much, your boy…”

“Who, Devil?” Boyd smiled at that, pouring Raylan some shine. “We ain’t fuckin’, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Not my place to ask.” Raylan managed to down the drink in one, but was not able to prevent the reaction at the strong, bitter brew.

Boyd was laughing freely. “You’ve been gone too long.” They made pointless small talk after that, and Crowder make sure to bring Arlo Givens into the conversation, just to make things burn – he always liked a fire. _“At any point, while you were fucking all those men, did you ever see your Daddy’s face?”_. That alone, with any other client, would be reason enough to get up and leave – then again, any other client wouldn’t know exactly where to strike; only Boyd did. That aside, Raylan had a feeling Boyd was trying to compensate a clear disadvantage, since nothing he could say would make the flag on the wall less sad, or this whole neo-nazi persona anything less than patetic.

“Now, Raylan, it worries me the way you seems to be objecting to our possible arrangement.” the man said, finally tired of his own games.

“The way I’m not laying on the floor and just taking it, you mean?”

“Not that I don’t appreciate a bitch who can put up a fight…” Boyd let his eyes travel over Raylan’s body, a smile playing on his lips. “but I would feel more… assured, if I was certain we were on the same page.”

“Well, Boyd, we are not.” Raylan didn’t thought about sugar coating it. He wasn’t very good at playing games when he was twenty, and he was even worst at it at thirty nine. “I may be a bitch but I’m not about to get in business with some fake nazi lowlife who thinks he can fuck with my head.”

“Oh is that so, Raylan?” they were both standing now, and Raylan wasn’t sure when that happened. He had already seen the gun Boyd was carrying tucked in the back of his jeans. “I’m a fake?”

“You know, Boyd, I think you just use this Nazi-bullshit to do whatever the hell you likes.”

“And what do I like, Raylan?”

And that, right there, was sex.

It was sex because Boyd was already on his personal space, talking in low tones and putting both hands on each side of Raylan’s body, holding to the church benches and trying to corner Raylan. It was sex because he was staring at Raylan’s physical reaction to him, watching his lips and his chest, breathing in his skin, making no moves to keep it subtle or polite. It was sex because Boyd was clearly already getting hard, his cock now perfectly visible tending the thigh jeans he was wearing, and only inches away from Raylan’s leg.

Raylan felt himself burn, with desire, yes, but mostly with anger; because that was sex but it was also abuse – that’s not how you make business with a sex-worker. He had already said no, loud and clear. It was just plain un-polite from Boyd to keep pushing, talking to him while carrying a piece, trying to corner him and intimidate him both physically and mentally, calling him names. And what the hell was he thinking talking about Arlo Givens? Paying for Raylan’s time didn’t give him the right to fuck with his safety, with his family history, or with his heart – mouth and ass were the only thing on the _fucking menu_.

“You like to blow things up, Boyd.” Raylan used a low tone, but didn’t let himself feel intimidated, didn’t let Boyd see him like nothing else than an equal – a pissed off equal, at that. “But don’t think I’ll let you blow me up.”

Boyd smiled at the double entendre, and instead of backing off like Raylan clearly wanted, only pressed further, and goddammit, why couldn’t he _fucking take a hint_.

“And what if I take you right now?”… and finally, the threats. Great.

“I’d like to see you try, Boyd.” his tone was hard and his jaw was set.

“Easy, there, cowboy.” Boyd was finally backing off, hands in the air, and that was good too, since Raylan had half a mind to start kicking his ass in the next ten seconds. “I’m not interested in taking what my money can’t buy. I’m just surprised you’re not interested in this like I am. I thought… hell, Raylan, maybe I read you all wrong in those years.”

Boyd was standing a few feet away now, and that made it easier for Raylan to remember the boy he once was, the boy he could trust with his life.

“Look Boyd,” he sighed, already tired of the drama. “that’s exactly why I don’t want this to happen.” at Boyd raised eyebrows, Raylan smiled. “Of course, that and that dumb ink on your arm, but I didn’t know you were this kind of asshole when I came here and somehow I already knew this was a bad idea. Dammit, Boyd, you think I don’t wonder? That I don’t think about how it could have been if I’d had guts enough to kiss you all those nights we were drinkin’ in the woods? If we’d somehow runaway together and faced the world and all that shit?”

Boyd looked like he was deflating, becoming somehow smaller, and that alone should be a clear enough sign to Raylan.

“And that’s exactly what will make this deal worst on both of us. We’ll both try to chase somethin’ that… it’s just not that anymore, it doesn’t exist. I’m not that boy anymore, neither are you. We’re not young, pure and in love. This is our past, Boyd, and messing with it will only taint it. You sure you want that?”

Raylan turned his hat twice in his hands, looked one last time over the church, and finally put his hat back, facing Boyd. He was hoping Boyd could see he was right, that fucking as prostitute and client would not be enough to relive the past. In fact, it would probably diminish it; make their once sacred feelings for each other something less, a mere negotiation. Boyd was once the thunderous boy with a bright smile and a good heart, the boy that made his whole world spin: he would be now the Wednesday costumer, come and spit and sweat, paying in cash.

That would feel like killing that boy, shooting the once Boyd Crowder straight through the heart.

Raylan was almost turning to go, but Boyd said: “I heard about that gun tug back in Miami. Rumor says you kissed him in broad day light.”

Raylan laughed at that. “That wasn’t a kiss, Boyd. I was protecting myself and destroying his reputation by doing that. It was as affectionate as a bullet would be.”

“Would you do that to me, Raylan, if you had the chance?” Boyd opened his arms, all long and thin and dangerous, looking ready to burn. “Destroy me like that?”

_Would you kiss me?_

Raylan just smiled, slowly, knowing full well that what he was feeling was not only attraction, but also nostalgia. He couldn’t ignore it, nonetheless.

“You make me pull, I’ll put you down.” was his only answer.

*****

Raylan didn’t hear of Boyd for three days. On the fourth, Raylan got a call on his work cellphone, and since he had no other clients, he was preparing himself for the worst.

“Look, Raylan, I thought long and hard about it, and I hope you respect my decision. I want to do this. You may have your point but I still have mine, and if you take my money I’ll be your costumer. You have twenty four hours to make your decision.”

That was it, that was the call. Soon after that, Art came looking for him to confirm that Boyd had called and made clear the next appointment wasn’t going to be a chatty one.

Of course, there were ways out. Raylan could come to Art and say he was feeling threatened, he was feeling exposed and in danger. In fact, Raylan’s pretty sure that if he was to report to Art everything Boyd said and did on their last meeting, Art would be the first one to say that the man wasn’t ready to be a costumer. That could be a good solution.

But this was a challenge, after all. Boyd knew they were making a mistake and decided to play russian roulette with their past. He was now handing the gun to Raylan.

(as he was dialing Boyd’s number, he felt like only a complete idiot would take a challenge from Boyd Crowder)

“Okay, this is how this is going to be: my rules, not yours. You’re the client but you clearly know jack shit about fucking whores that are not those poor girls at Audrey’s, so you’ll shut up and listen.”

“Pushy, ain’t you?”

“First of all, this shit gotta go. Unless we’re in the genuine act of fucking, you won’t be callin’ me names. Not slut, not bitch…”

“You just called yourself a whore.”

“I ain’t you. So you won’t be callin’ me anything besides ‘Raylan’ if you wanna see this through. If we’re in the middle of fucking then you can call me Martha as far as I’m concerned, it all comes with the package.”

“Glad to know it.”

“Shut it. Now, safety issues: I don’t give a fuck about what you do for a living, Boyd, you ain’t brigin’ any weapons to this meeting. I see a gun, I’m out. You won’t try to intimidate me or corner me or push me in any way…”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“… like you fuckin’ did the last time we saw each other. That’s your only warning. Oh, and we ain’t doing it on that damn church, ‘cause I’m not about to risk gettin’ caught by your minions, and because even hookers have the right to decide that gay prostitution and copulation with a nazi won’t happen under a sacred roof. Let’s try and keep the blasphemy in a minimal.”

A pleased laugh at that. “I thought you would appreciate the kinkiness of it, Raylan.”

“No, Boyd, you’re confusing your own perverted self with me again. Last but not least, you won’t mention Arlo or my family. Ever.”

Thankfully, Raylan didn’t have to say more than that about that particular request. There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, and when Boyd spoke Raylan could hear the smile on his voice.

“We gotta ourselves a deal, Raylan. When can you come back to Harlan?”

“I thought you heard me when I said I wouldn’t be stepping foot on that church. We’re doing it in Lexington, any motel you want.”

A long silence went after that.

“Well, Raylan, I’m afraid we’re gonna have to do a rain check, if that’s the case.”

“What’s the matter now, Boyd?” Raylan didn’t knew if Boyd was particularly annoying or if he just couldn’t take client’s bullshit anymore since the whole Tommy fiasco.

“Raylan, my friend, you opened this conversation by making quite clear that that wouldn’t be any transaction unless it was by your rules. Now, I completely understand your point, and I may in fact agree that I wasn’t in my best behavior last I saw you, but we can’t ignore my line of business just as much as we can’t ignore yours. As things are right now, in face of some later…. disagreements I had with the law, I can’t risk going to Lexington all by my lonely self, much less unarmed. Since I feel I’m already pushing you into this, I won’t try to convince you to change your heart on this matter as well.”

He hung up the phone after that, and Raylan was left looking at his cellphone and wondering how the hell they went so faster from “deal” to “no deal”. Anyway, the current situation was a better one, and Raylan was relieved he wouldn’t have to deal with all the drama. Or, at least, he was pretty sure he _should_ be relieved: that’s what he wanted, right? A way out of fucking Boyd without having to outright deny a costumer. In fact, that was the ideal solution, better than he would have expected. Right?

Raylan was dialing again.

“Look, Boyd, I’m gettin’ a little tired of this whole ‘will-they-fuck-won’t-they-fuck’ game. You said we have a deal, we have a deal. We are fuckin’. And don’t try to fake a cough, I can hear you laughin’ ya ass off.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Raylan.” Boyd didn’t sound sorry at all. “It’s just it’s so good to see your renewed enthusiasm with our transaction, I really can’t help myself.”

“Oh, you’ll be helping yourself alright if you don’t come up with a good place quick. And _not_ the church.”

Turns out Bowman Crowder’s wife (“That girl Ava, remember her? Used to live just down your street.”) was finally tired of all the beating and left him for good, before threatening to kill him with a shotgun if he ever followed. Bowman was licking his wounds in Boyd’s church for the past week, and his house was left empty. The house had four walls and a bed, and a more neutral environment, and that was all Raylan could really ask.

They agreed to meet two days later.

*****

“Well, c’mon in!” Boyd was sitting in Bowman’s dining table, all dressed in black, looking happy and friendly. There was a bottle of Jim Beam on the table, and Raylan couldn’t make himself move on the first try. “C’mon in, sit down, help yourself. _Raylan._ ”

Only after hearing his own name did Raylan manage to make his legs move. He took his jacket off, and considered sitting across the table, but what was the point in making all that distance anyway? It would be awkward to have to travel it again. He sat close to Boyd, by his right, and he could see by the man’s smile he was more than pleased with it.

“Should we just do us a shot of Jim Beam, just for old time’s sake?” Raylan’s answer was a smile, and he poured the drink for both of them. He thought about how many times he smiled at client’s stupid jokes and antics, because he was being paid to be a good fuck and a nice enough company, but it felt slightly different with Boyd. He remembers laughing honestly with Boyd, and his spirit still wants to respond to Boyd’s craziness with joy. But, at the same time… at the same time, he had played that game far too many times, and he had the professional smile on his face before he could think about it. Only, Boyd knew him enough to recognize the fakeness, and Raylan could already tell he was reacting to it.

He tried not to be disappointed in himself. He was acting like a professional because the man in front of him was a client, nothing else.

“To old times.” Raylan said, trying to keep his voice cheered.

Boyd downed his drink looking at Raylan, deep in thought, as if he had suddenly realized he had miscalculated this whole situation. After a second he shook himself, and the next time he raised his eyes at Raylan they were already filled with lust. So. The friendly part of the evening was over.

“Those years surely treated you well…”

“Haven’t been bad on yourself as well, Boyd.”

Boyd made a movement towards him across the table, but aborted it half-way. He then laughed, looking suddenly shy.

“Well, Raylan, you sure were right. I don’t know shit about doing this. How am I supposed to start this if I can’t kiss you?”

Raylan smiled, turning his chair towards Boyd and opening his legs a fraction. Things were under control. This he knew how to do. “I’m sure we can think of somethin’ if ya come here.”

Boyd was up in a beat, standing between Raylan’s legs and threading his fingers through his hair, a look of hunger in his face. Raylan’s hands were already traveling his body: his waist, his sides, his tights. He would tease him a bit, long enough to get him hot for it. He could see Boyd getting hard, his cock in Raylan’s line of sight, but it wasn’t enough, not yet.

Boyd’s fingers were in his face, tracing his jaw and then, lightly, his mouth. Suddenly Boyd forced two fingers inside, a rough gesture after tender touches, and Raylan could already tell this would be Boyd’s way of throwing him out of his game for the whole night. As soon as he recovered from the surprise he was sucking on Boyd’s digits, his own hands tracing patterns on Boyd’s chest under his shirt.

(he wanted to stop a moment and think “this is me touching Boyd Crowder, this is Boyd Crowder’s skin, this is Boyd Crowder’s hair, the heat of Boyd Crowder’s body”, but he couldn’t, he had to please this client. he moaned around the fingers, without feeling the taste.)

Boyd’s fingers in his hair were insistent but not hurtful. Raylan was already getting hard. He had a whole plan about slowly making Boyd crazy for it, but then he was accidentally rubbing his face on Boyd’s hard on over his black jeans, and yeah, he kind of deserved the “ _wanton whore_ ” title the other was now giving him.

“Take off your clothes.” Raylan was quick to oblige, getting to his feet in front of Boyd and stripping. “Keep the hat.”

(when he thought about it, a lifetime ago, he thought they would both still be dressed, probably in a dark corner somewhere, and he would have to know Boyd’s body by touch, he would have to see with his fingertips. now he’s standing in a well illuminated dining room, completely naked, and Boyd is eating him with his eyes, getting impossible hard over this obscene image out of a cheap gay porn.)

Raylan knows how to get naked fast but still graceful, all long limbs and sexy movements. Boyd makes him kneel as soon as he’s done with enjoying the view, opening his own fly with his right hand while the left goes into Raylan’s hair. Boyd’s cock is right there, as hard as it could be, and Raylan can’t see his face any longer, can’t see Boyd’s eyes – the only thing he can see is the organ. Time to put that show on the road.

Raylan does it as he was once, a long time ago, told he should do it: starts by licking under the cock, long and teasing, kissing the head while looking up at Boyd from under heavy eyelids – giving him all the visual needed. He can’t actually see Boyd since his eyes are already watering from the intrusion in his mouth, he also can’t focus on Boyd’s reaction and manage to stay focused at sucking the head inside his mouth at the same time, but he trusts, by the way Boyd is pulling at his hair, that he’s doing alright.

(Raylan will start sucking for good any minute now like the pro he is, the whole bobbing-licking-swallowing-sucking routine and, finally, the deep throating Boyd’s money is worth. he wishes for a few minutes where he could have felt the weight of Boyd’s dick in his tongue, where he would have finally found out what Boyd tasted like, so many times he wondered while lying on his bed in Arlo’s house. but he doesn’t have those minutes, because Boyd’s already moving his hips.)

Boyd fucks his mouth fast and hard, and Raylan gets into his own mind zone, where he escapes the minute he knows it’s time for the client to just let go and use. He doesn’t want to do that, he wants to stay there with Boyd, feeling every trust, every movement. But his body knows this is a client, and sometimes his job is to just lay there and take it. This mind space is a defense, it’s a way to cope with the knowledge that this is the moment where he can’t escape, can’t control, can’t even ask to stop: Boyd’s hands in each side of his face, his mouth open and the cock trusting deeper and deeper, nowhere to go. He really wants to stay, but he’s already somewhere else.

Boyd is still for a moment, and Raylan prays he isn’t already coming: this can’t be it, can it? A fifteen minute blowjob in Bowman’s dining room. Not… just this.

But Boyd’s not coming, he’s still hard, his cock slipping out of Raylan’s mouth while he kneels in front of Raylan. His thumbs are rubbing Raylan’s face, and only then Raylan realizes that tears have been running down his face. It’s not some emotional response: Boyd went to fast on his throat, he was trying to swallow, breath, suck and moan at the same time, and his body ended up responding with tears. There’s probably some good biological information about that, but Raylan doesn’t know it, he knows it has happened dozens of times before that, before Boyd.

“Did I made you cry, babe?” they’re both smiling, and Boyd is kissing the side of his face, licking the tears: Raylan can’t seem to find in his client the joy from earlier, even if his cock’s completely hard and rubbing against his tight. Raylan is getting anxious, Boyd is jerking him off, something is so wrong about him now, Boyd smiles a fake smile and bites on his neck, Raylan is moaning and it’s the first real moan he makes all night, and maybe that’s what’s wrong, but the client’s scraping his nails on his chest and he’s faking it again, they’re faking and moaning and Raylan’s trying to remember this is Boyd, this is Boyd, a john named Boyd, his best friend Boyd…

“C’mon, Boyd, c’mon, you’re gonna do it? C’mon…”

(he manages to use Boyd’s name, but just once, just that one time, and then he’s back at moaning like he did so many times before, because this is not a lover, this is a client, it’s a john, not Boyd. Raylan also doesn’t have a name any longer: Boyd keeps calling him “slut” and “whore”.)

He feels Boyd’s fingers on his ass, on his cheeks, on his crack, travelling towards his hole and dipping inside, but they’re not hurting – Raylan had prepared himself at home first, so there’s no surprise, no pain. He wants to feel the pain, the stretch, so he pushes hard against the fingers, it’s not enough, Boyd’s pushing three fingers now, and its better. Its better, but still lacking, Raylan wants to ask for more but is afraid it’ll sound even more like bad porn, as Boyd goes for " _Ride my finger, whore, let me see this ass_ ”. But then Boyd is off of him, getting up to reach the lube and the condom, and Raylan is a naked cold mess in someone else’s dining room floor.

Boyd doesn’t find the lube soon, and the lust that was making Raylan burn is fading out. When he’s finally back, he’s still wearing all his clothes. Raylan figures he going to want to fuck like this, classical hooker fuck: the john doesn’t have to be vulnerable, doesn’t have to be naked, this is a quick fuck in an alley. Only, it isn’t, but Raylan’s not sure Boyd knows exactly what he wants: to slap the slut or to kiss the friend. Both options will only lead to trouble, but Raylan would at least like to know what they are playing at right now.

 _Right now_ it seems like this is a rough fuck, Boyd is turning him and making him go on all fours, _like a bitch_ , fingers slippery with lube and cock hard against his ass, already with the condom. Then he’s going in, he’s big and moving slowly, Raylan keeps thinking that they are there, that this is it, but something is still lacking, still missing, even when Boyd is all in and Raylan feels full. The client is moving inside him, Raylan can feel every inch of his length, his hands travelling with tender over his hips, his waist, his back, his neck. The john is being so nice and so slow and Raylan is barely moving, the warmness spreading all over his limbs and making him sleepy.

Then Boyd’s back to his antics, his travelling fingers suddenly closing around Raylan’s hair, while he now fucks with violence and speed, his thighs slapping against the back of Raylan’s legs and his cock ramming fast. Raylan is launched forward, trying to hold on to the carpet, but the john’s already holding him, a hand in his hips making him take it deep, no chance for escaping. He’s using that hole and Raylan wants to keep remembering its Boyd, but he’s not feeling it anymore, he’s already gone. There’s no more sex, just desperate movement and desperate cries, so fast it feels like being stabbed, Raylan still can’t tell what’s wrong, only he knows there’s no way to fix it.

Boyd sits back and makes Raylan ride him, they’re facing each other now. It should be better, it should make things easier, but he doesn’t see a friend as he looks into those eyes, the cock still hammering on his ass like there’s not tomorrow. Boyd’s sweating and cursing, his hands hurting Raylan’s hips, his voice broken. They’re going fast and hard, but the satisfaction is still miles away, even if the orgasm is just around the corner. Raylan nails are leaving marks on Boyd’s back; they’re biting and sucking, but they can see in each other’s eyes that they’re simply not inside, not there, not close. They are more far away than ever, more than all those years apart – they’re trying and trying but they can never reach. The john keeps going, Raylan is going to come, this is Boyd, not a stranger, empty eyes and a hard cock, moving fast but never getting there.

(“true always sounds like lies to a sinner”, and they’re both so full of sins, there’s no more space for true.)

And Raylan can see now that Boyd’s so tired and so frantic that you can actually read the pain in his eyes. He’s shacking with the effort, but still not giving up; he’s finally saying Raylan’s name, over and over, begging Raylan for something he doesn’t know what is. But they can’t get to it, it’s out of reach, they were so close, Raylan, so close, moving and moving and Raylan just try one last time: he leans forward and kisses Boyd.

The kiss seems to go on forever, they’re finally coming, falling forward, still kissing. Boyd tries to kiss him hard, harder, but he’s already losing: he’s falling to the floor, the kiss is breaking and they still didn’t get it. They couldn’t redeem themselves with a kiss, they couldn’t undo the past. Boyd’s hands lose their strength, and he is now laying on the floor, his limbs lifeless, his lips unmoving, his whole body still shacking lightly. Raylan knew he had been unmerciful, destroying Boyd’s last dreams of youth: that kiss was a kill shot, the final prove that they could never go back.

Raylan looks at the man under him and feel real tears cloud his vision. He can’t help but remember Boyd’s hand searching for his in the dark of the mine, the day they would have died, twenty years ago; Raylan feels like crying now because the boy who once saved him can never reach him again. With that last kiss, they both knew that they were lost to each other. But once, once, they dug coal together, side by side in a dark mine, young and new, children of coal and night.

**Author's Note:**

> "Midnight Cowboy" is a 1969 movie. It follows a very young Jon Voight and a very young Dustin Hoffman as - you guessed - male prostitutes. Also, great soundtrack.  
> You wanna yell at me 'cause I suck at porn and/or at AUs? Reach me at ohthati.tumblr.com  
> Hope you enjoyed it!


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